


Of Pleasure

by clockworkrobots



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:59:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/pseuds/clockworkrobots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What is this?" Dean asks of the presentation on the kitchen table before him, too surprised to really do anything with the visual input offered. It looks like Cas baked for him, but Dean doesn't really know if he's prepared to accept that staggering conclusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Contains vague character spoilers about 9.06, but mostly my own assumptions about them!

"What is this?" Dean asks of the presentation on the kitchen table before him, too surprised to really _do_ anything with the visual input offered. It _looks_ like Cas baked for him, but Dean doesn't really know if he's prepared to accept that staggering conclusion.

Cas frowns at him, as if offended Dean should have cause to question his creation. "Cake."

"Cake," Dean repeats, as if the word might yield him some answers on his own tongue. " _Why?_ "

Cas' frown deepens. "Why not?"

Well, Dean really can't think of a good rebuttal for that. 

Walking over to the table, he swipes a finger across the cake's top, scooping up a liberal dollop of chocolate icing, and popping it in his mouth. He waits for Cas' complaint of sabotage, but his friend is rather too pre-occupied with the way Dean's finger disappears into his mouth to care. "Where'd you learn to make this anyway?" Dean asks, when his digit is licked clean.

Cas' eyes flick back up to meet Dean's. "18th century France," he deadpans. Then again, he might not _actually_ be joking.

Still, that doesn't really explain what this random cake is about. "Okay, see, yeah," Dean waves his hand around emphatically, "you can pull the 'I'm old as shit' card all you want, but _theory_ is one thing--cooking well requires _practice."_

Actually, to be fair Cas _can_ cook well, as he's proven in the past few months since he moved into the bunker with them for good. Dean has never seen him _bake_ anything, however, hence the confusion as to what occasion this is exactly for.

_"_ I made one for Nora's children, once," Cas says by way of explanation, cutting a generous slice and laying it down on a plate. He hands it out to Dean.

Dean takes it eagerly. "Birthday?" he asks. He still doesn't know too much about Cas' months away from them, living and working the quiet life. He's met Nora, the kind woman who'd taken Cas under her wing, and her kids a once or twice, since Cas does insist they visit when they can, but he never spent the time with them that Cas had, who, when he wasn't working in her shop, was kind of a natural babysitter.

"No, not that I recall. It just... seemed like something children would enjoy doing," Cas admits. "It _was_ fun."

"Literally making the kids work for their own sugar high, huh. Nice," Dean chuckles. He kind of wishes he'd been there to see that, Cas swarmed by sticky, flour coated kids. He tries not to dwell on that thought too long though, for the bitter tang of regret is liable to overwhelm his mouth before he can even take a bite of cake.

"Well, they were far more appreciative than you are, apparently," Cas observes, nodding down at Dean's surprisingly still untouched slice. He's teasing a bit though, Dean knows, for the corner of his lip quirks up.

"What? No--hey! I think this is awesome!" Dean assures. "Just the last time I woke up and saw someone had baked a cake for me was... never. Sammy would scrounge around to buy something for me on my birthday when we were kids, but we rarely had the kitchen to make it from scratch." Plus, cooking had always been kind of _his_ thing, his way to unwind if they had downtime at Bobby's, or had to stay with some other acquaintance of dad's for a couple days. It was a way to keep his hands busy and keep all their stomachs happy, and maybe, just maybe, made Dean feel a little bit like normal in his otherwise fucked up life.

"Well, now you do," Cas says, and a rush of warmth floods through him.

Dean takes a grateful bite of cake then, and smiles around the fork. After he swallows, he says, "Now I have you," a little jokingly, implying that Cas should bake him treats _all_ the time now.

Cas doesn't take it as a joke, however. "You always had me, Dean," Castiel adds, and Dean's glad he's finished chewing his last bite, or else he might of choked over Cas' unbridled sincerity. It's still too much to bear, sometimes, being the focus of that intensity. Even though they've finally got a bit of their shit together and admitted kissing and fucking might be a better alternative than fighting and leaving, Dean's still too unused to the weight of Cas' freely given affections.

"Well now I have you _here_ ," he clears his throat. "How weird is this, man? You in a kitchen in a fucking apron," he gestures at Cas' apron-clad form. _"I_ don't even wear aprons when I cook."

"I didn't want to have to take my clothes off so fast after I put them on if I got them dirty," Cas says very reasonably.

Still, no reason that can't be turned lewd under Dean's watch. "There are other reasons you might have to take your clothes off, you know," he smirks, setting his plate down, and stepping into Cas' personal space.

"Pray tell, enlighten me," Cas says dryly, acting unimpressed, though Dean can see the way he sways slightly into Dean's orbit.

"Well... you baked me cake," Dean points out, looping his hands around Cas' back to untie the apron. "It ain't no pie, but it sure is something. I'll want to thank you, won't I?"

"It would only be polite," Cas agrees, as Dean pulls the now loose fabric over his head, and then throws the apron across the back of the nearest kitchen chair when free.

"Politeness ain't got nothin' to do with it."

Cas raises an eyebrow. "At least you know how to make up for its lack, then."

Dean leans in to hover his lips close, breath ghosting over the perfect jut and curve of Cas' stubbled jaw. "That I do, that I do."

"Well, then _do_ already," Cas grumbles, voice low and impatient. Dean _loves_  his impatient growl, because it usually forewarns a really good fuck.

"Easy there, Chef Ramsay, I'm going," he says, as he slides his hands down first, to unbuckle Cas' belt, and then slowly his whole body to kneel on the floor.

"Dean," he hears Cas say, though weirdly the sound doesn't seem be coming from his mouth. Regardless of where it came from, though, the interruption is distracting him from his quest of getting Cas' cock out of his pants and into his mouth.

"Yeah," Dean offers absently, popping the button on Cas' fly.

" _Dean_ ," the Cas-voice-that's-not-from-Cas says again, louder this time, so loud and diverting that Dean has to squint to see his own hands as his vision gets a bit hazy.

" _What?_ " he finally snaps back at Cas, and it's with that word on his tongue that he wakes up. 

He blinks, disoriented, as the _real_ Cas' face swims into focus.

"You were dreaming," Real Cas says, as Dean's brain struggles to free itself fully from sleep.

Dean rubs his eyes until he can look at Cas and not feel his eyelids threaten to close on him. "So?"

"Your erection was pushing into my hip and was proving very distracting," Cas says calmly, as one might say 'hello'. The bastard has the audacity to look positively perfect in bed-head sprouting up from where his head rests on his pillow, so Dean can't really find it in himself to comment on it. "You were dreaming about kitchen sex again," he informs him.

"Ughh," Dean moans, because they've had this conversation before. "Let it go, man, and just get me off." Dean's erection still juts into the waistband of Cas' boxer shorts.

"This is the fourth time in two weeks you've had very vocal dreams about kitchen sex," Cas continues, ignoring Dean's request for a handjob, though he does tilt his hips in just so, offering a tantalising tease of pressure.

Cas will _not_ persuade him to sully his kitchen with sex, betraying dreams be damned. "It's not happening."

Cas cruelly hooks a leg in between Dean's and presses up with a thigh. A hand trails up under Dean's shirt to tickle and tease his skin with the light press of fingertips. "We _can_ be sanitary and clean up after," Cas impresses.

"It'll be uncomfortable," Dean remains firm--in more ways than one, for his cock is straining for attention against the soft fabric of his own underwear. 

Cas shifts his weight so he's practically looming over Dean now, leaning in between Dean's sprawled open legs. Dean can feel Cas is half-hard as well, as Cas presses down and their clothed dicks slides against each other.

Cas kisses the side of Dean's mouth, wet and sloppy and so, so _warm_. What a way to wake up.

"You won't think so under my attentions, because you won't have time to think much of anything," he says, just a bit smug, and Dean does have to give it to him, because he's _right._ Dean has the ability to make Cas equally speechless, of course, but not this morning. Cas is actually rarely this alert ahead of Dean, but that means when it _does_ happen, the fallen angel likes to take full advantage of Dean's raw state. Hell, Dean's _more_ than happy to let him.

"Nnngh, Sam would hate us," he protests a bit weakly, will already loosening under the weight of Cas above him, sucking into his skin as his fingers play at the hem of his shorts, pulling them down ever so slow.

"Sam already hates us," Cas reminds him in between kisses. "Remember when we mistook his bedroom for ours when we came back from Hastings?" It had been their first real date night, and they'd arrived home with a _very_ zealous enthusiasm to be all over each other, much to the suffering of their sense of direction, and Sam's peace of mind.

"Oh, hahaha, yeah," Dean laughs breathily, remembering. Sam was right to be pissed, but it had honestly been one of the best nights of Dean's life. 

Cas finally frees Dean's cock from his underwear, dragging it half way down his legs before he figures it's good enough. Dean's gaze tracks the movement greedily, desperately trying not to buck his hips up with impatient want. "I make food there, though," Dean adds to his argument when he brain catches up a bit. "Why do you want to have sex in the kitchen so badly anyway?"

"It's the one room left," Cas shrugs, raising Dean's t-shirt up to his arm pits so Cas' mouth has the full canvas of Dean's chest to kiss across as he makes his way down to Dean's crotch. "Why do you? You've dreamt about it enough."

"Probably 'cause you keep talking about it. God, who knew you'd be the more depraved one," he huffs up at the ceiling, though he's certainly not complaining. Cas had been very happy to christen each room of the bunker when he'd finally moved in.

Cas pauses in his ministrations, and Dean mourns the loss of his mouth from his right nipple. "This isn't _depravity,"_ he chastises. His eyes are open and serious when he catches Dean's gaze and says simply, "I want to have you everywhere because you're beautiful everywhere."

As much as he might want to, embarrassment flooding into his cheeks, Dean finds he can't look away.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," he says roughly, impressed with himself that he can speak at all. His heart hammers in his chest and his cock yearns for Cas' touch, but it's Cas' _eyes_ he wants, on him, never leaving.

Cas does not break eye contact as he moves his left hand to cup the curve of Dean's hip, and reverently rubs the pad of his thumb into the sharp angle of bone there. "This is not flattery, it's fact."

"It can't be fact if it's subjective," Dean points out, because arguing he can do. Accepting compliments is still hard.

"It's fact for my subjective reality, then. Why are you arguing with me?" Cas tilts his head in that familiar way, curious and not dismissive. Dean's chest tightens. "You're beautiful--you've always been so, but perhaps flourish even more when you're like this."

"And how am I like?" Dean asks instead bitting back a more bitter, self-effacing retort. "And don't you _dare_ fucking say beautiful again." Cas' dirty talk leaves something to be desired, as his current idea of it seems to be describing in incredible detail and sincerity what Dean means to him. It is _immeasurably_ hot, but in absolutely no way Dean is used to. It kind of terrifies him.

"You are... stubborn," Cas smirks. "But welcoming." He finally shifts his head down do where Dean's cock stands erect, leaking. Cas mouths at his balls first though. Wet, suctioning heat surrounds Dean, and he gasps.

"You glow with a flush more radiant than from mere blood. I cannot see your soul anymore," Cas says, when he pulls his mouth off for breath, but his elegy for what he once was is free from melancholy, "but sometimes I think I can see it in your eyes when you whisper my name after ecstasy. It's true, you are not beautiful when you're like this. You simply _are_ ," he tells Dean, amazed, " _everything_."

Then he swallows Dean's dick down in full. 

" _Cas_ \-- _fuck."_

Dean grapples for purchase in the sheets, in Cas' hair, _anywhere_ , because the way Cas' sinful mouth takes him in is shameless and graceless, but _perfect_ for it all the same. He sucks like it's the most delicious meal he's ever tasted, and hell, maybe it is. Cas certainly treats Dean like the one flavour he will never tire of, discovering and rediscovering every crevasse of his skin. Dean doesn't  _understand_ why, exactly, but he sort of _knows_ why, now.

Because Cas needs him, too. 

When he comes all the air in his lungs is punched out of him, and every tense muscle in his body sighs with delirious, delighted relief. 

When his voice returns to him he laughs, "Still not doing it in the kitchen, you know."

"Shame," Cas comments, smiling. "For I _was_ going to make cake today."


End file.
